The lyrich echo of pure Shelley’s voice.
On Pæstum’s glory and on Dougga’s mount
I studied metope and fluted frieze—
And so on. “Man” finally reaches Mount Parnassus—
The mighty throne of Zeus
Hides like a cloud-veiled mist within the heavens;
I am so near divinity it seems
That I could tread the pathway of the stars;
but “Thought” comes hurrying along, two pages later. Man cries to him desperately:
Envelope me within the cosmic heart